PS 





LIBRARY DF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



COLLEGE RHYMES 



BY 

BERTHA s/ FARROW 






T 23 ',mj 






INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOWEN-MERRILL C'O., PUBLISHERS 
1893 



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Copyright, 189?, 
By Bertha S. Farrow. 



Carlon & Hollenbeck, 
Printers and Binders, Indianapolis. 



INTRODUCTION. 



For the most part, the following stanzas are selec- 
tions from rhymes that have appeared in the De Pauw 
college papers within the past three years. 

It is with a full realization of their many imperfec- 
tions and with much consequent timidity that they are 
offered to the public. 

To those heroic souls who may have the courage to 
read them, these "College Rhymes" are most sympa- 
thetically dedicated. 

Bertha S. Farrow. 

Greencaslle, huh, March 2S, 1893. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Ode to the Bell of D. P. U 1 

Youth Ideal ' 3 

Nature and Art 4 

Freshman Ode 6 

The Young Student's Night Thoughts 9 

The Ideal 10 

Spring 12 

The Genial Face U 

Ode to the World 15 

Ode to the Muse 17 

My Love 18 

The Bards Departed 19 

Gone Democratic. 21 

The World's Untrue 22 

Ideal Home 24 

His Footsteps 26 

Mary to Her Departed 27 

The Stormy Night 29 

Ice-Clad 31 

In Memoriam 33 

The Cloud With a Silver Lining 34 

My Country Home 36 

The Serenade 39 

Ode to the Christmas Bells 41 

Reflections 43 

Remorse 45 

Her Smile ., 47 



SONGS. 

Love Captive 51 

Nevermore 53 

The Dainty Blue Letters Which Came Through the Mail 54 

Opening Song of D. K. E 55 

Sigma Nu 57 

Lines to Delta U 59 

Sigma Chi 61 

DIALECTS. 

Into Trouble 65 

The Farm 67 

Sue's Love Affairs 70 

Lookin' Back Agin 72 

An Old Hoosier on Hearing James Whitconib Riley 75 

A Child's Question 77 

Ben Jones' First Trip to the Ohio 81 



t I^--"'-:' -^-^^- 




4^ 



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ODE TO THE BELL OF D. P. U. 

/ I |NCE more kind nature gaily tints 
V_^ The forest with artistic care, 
And breathes abroad o'er all the land 

The pure and fresh autumnal air, 
Which bears upon its freighted wings 

Enchanting sounds that come afar. 

Yes, now is borne a deep-toned sound, 
A welcome sound that swells anew ; 

Now sounding deep, now sounding faint, 
As gentle gales their waves renew. 

You ask: "Of what, pray, do you sing?" 
It is the Bell of D. P. U. 
(1)'' 



Ring loud, ring long, happy Bell ! 

Thou callest from a sacred dome ; 
Thy call is heard through all the land, 

From splendor's haunt to humble home 
Thy accents fall in sweetest rhyme, 

And ''Welcome" floats to all who come. 

tell me, in the after years. 

When other themes demand our lay, 

Will not these echoes sound once more. 
To earth a happy tribute pay. 

By nobler deeds, by purer laws, 

As thoughts unfurl a banner gay ? 

Yes, yes, ring on, happy Bell! 

Thou callest from a sacred dome ; 
Thou wakest in the youthful soul 

The goodly thoughts that yet shall come. 
And in those future golden years 

Will bring a splendid harvest home. 

Ring loud, ring long, happy Bell ! 

Ring on, thy notes are pure and true! 
Thy voice is greeted by our land, 

And echoed through the heaven's blue! 
Ring loud, ring long, happy Bell, 

Ring on, thou Bell of D. P. U.l 



(2) 



YOUTH IDEAL. 

There throbs not the heart of a youth, whose theme 
Of life and thought is as pure as the gleam 
Of a silvery star, whose bright, youthful dream 
Is not of perfection — of life as complete, 
As glowing, ideal — such youth is so sweet ! 

The fairy-like feet through the daisy-meads trip ; 
The oft thirsting soul from the lily cups sip 
The dews of the morning, while melodies drip 
From silvery bells gaily chiming to greet 
The heart in its longing, — such youth is so sweet ! 

The sweet dream of love is as pure and as true 
As though it had floated, all sparkling with dew, 
From borders celestial through clear dome of blue. 
Ah, heaven and earth it would seem often meet 
In fondest embraces, — such youth is so sweet ! 



(3) 



NATURE AND ART. 

Forgive, I must pen e'en these thoughts, though they 

seem 
But trifling to you, 'mid the most splendid gleam 
Of more charming thoughts, which are clothed in 

sweet rhyme 
By authors whom love will sustain through all time. 

'Tis this, while I sit in my study to-night, 

A most pleasant countenance looks from her height, 

With more real kindness, — timidity sweet, 

Than half the fair lassies we meet in the street. 

'Tis a work of fair art ; and it haunts me thus still, 
That man with his hands can form at his will 
A face far excelling, save a few which we love. 
In that little bronze statue which stands on my stove. 

Ah, you will forgive me, this radical rhyme. 
But what so distresses me thus all the time. 
And what so disturbs me and seems to beguile. 
Is what I term, truly, a mechanical smile. 

(4) 



I know you have noticed, — felt wounded perchance 

By just such a smile and dignified glance ; 

Ah, if from the heart no reflection I trace. 

My song to the world, is, — "pray wear a plain face ! 



(0) 



FRESHMAN ODE— NINETY-FIVE. 

Peal forth every voice in thy wildest glee, 

Peal forth thy joyous delight, — 
'An M and a D, and a C, C, C, 

Hurrah, De Pauw, Ninety-five ; 
An X and a C, and a final V, 

Vive la Ninety-five ! ! " 

We listen with joy to a clear voice deep, 
It sounds, through the corridors, true; 

We listen again, and the glad hearts leap, 
The voice we hear thus, to know 

Comes from a future, where clouds seldom weep, 
And winds, perchance, seldom blow. 

We gaze with delight on our castles grand. 
We've built where the pure sunny light 

Reflects on them softly, where, towering, they stand, 
O'erlooking far the broad lea, 

We've built on a rock — we hope not the sand — 
Beside Life's beautiful sea. 

We feel now the raptures of youth's gay dream, 

We feel the quick pulses beat, 
And hands which beckon us on gently, seem 

(6) 



Ever pointing to purposes true. 
Success to the uttermost, be our theme, 
Success in pathways anew. 

O cherished Ideals, to thee we cling. 
Thy realm our source of delight; 

In thee we shall find all our life one spring, 
A spring whose rich season's lure 

Is rarest of melodies borne on the wing 
Of zephyrs, soft, and most pure. 

Peal forth every voice in thy wildest glee. 

Peal forth thy joyous delight,— 
'An M and a D and a C, C, C, 
Hurrah, De Pauw, Ninety-five! 

An X and a C and a final V, 
Vive la Ninety-five ! " 



(7) 



Ami .mlrA . IIm f 




'But those little (iii'jrij vonls." 



THE YOUNG STUDENT'S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 

The shadows fall from black wing'd night; 

The gentle gales are sighing ; 
While through my mind with hurried speed, 

The thoughts of home are flying. 

And now amid the gloom, I feel 
The powers which gently bind me 

To home and friends, and those I love, 
While tears too often find me. 

There is a vision ling'ring still, 

'Tis mother's last caresses ; — 
But, oh, this weight upon my heart 

How heavily it presses ! 

How often I have heard her say, 
We boys were strangely fashioned. 

Not seemingly alike the girls. 
With tender hearts impassioned. 

But, oh, if she were here to-night. 
And knew my heart's wild beating, 

Such thoughts I'm sure could never stay, 
But from her mind be fleeting. 

And those dear letters I have had, 

How often I have read them, — 
But, oh, those little angry words — 

I wish I'd never said them! 
(9) 



THE IDEAL. 

fair and grand Ideal, 
How oft, by thee, am I 

Unfitted for the real. 
Entranced in dreams, 
Life often seems 

One tale of rare perfection. 

Unwearied, ever winging 

Through fine and fragrant airs. 
My soul lists to the ringing 

Of merry bells. 

Whose music tells 
Of joy in sweet connection. 

Then echoed from the mountains, 
Mid morning's freshest dews. 

Are voices from the fountains 
Where Naiads meet, 
And ever greet 

Pegasus in his wand'rings. 
(10) 



Pure joys not once declining 
Enchant ni}^ longing soul 

And, 'round my heart entwining, 
Their tendrils cling, 
And ever bring 

Me rest amid my pond 'rings. 

Fair dreams, must ye be broken 
Thy course so sweet and wild, 

To drift, and not betoken 
That blissful joy. 
Without alloy. 

Such rare unequaled gladness ? 

Awake from thine ideal 
dreaming soul of mine, 

This life is in the real ; 
The pearly gate 
Alone doth wait 

To shut life free from sadness. 



(11) 



SPRING. 

Sir Robin, I hear you proclaiming the spring, 
From southlands thoii'rt borne by the swift sailing 

wing, 
Thy quick note's the first, sir, the very first thing 
That's struck on that loved harp, the grand harp of 

spring. 

Yes, all winter long 'mid the snow and the rain 
I've longed for that harj) to be touched once again; 
Its sweet tender chords, its most pleasing strain. 
Would welcome have been, e'en the doves' sad refrain. 

Yes, murmuring streams from their ice chains are free, 
And softest of breezes are borne o'er the lea ; 
Above in the dome there are floating so free 
The light silken clouds "like the ships on the sea." 

The bright sun is shining with warm golden rays. 
The loam is now turned for the rich fields of maize, 
As backward or forward we may turn our gaze 
The year holds not for us such grand luring days. 

(12) 



0, linger, we pra}^ thee, sweet spring of the year! 
And linger sweet spring of that life we hold dear, 
So free from the cold wintry blast is our sphere, 
O'erflowing our cup with a nectar so clear. 



(I3r 



THE GENIAL FACE. 

Who hath not felt the wondrous power, 
The tender, warming rays of light 

Which beam from out a pure sweet soul 
Into the coldness of the night — 

Reflected from that altar-place 

Aglow with love — the genial face ? 

Behold, how oft with slackened speed 
The careless, busy, wrestling world 

Will pause to gaze with pensiv^e eye, 
As if on pleasing flag unfurled. 

With royal motto in the air, 

Upon the genial face so fair ! 

Behold, the gathered group that stand 
Delighted with that radiant face, 

As with Aurora's glance at morn ! 

Lo, bathed in warming light, we trace 

A meaning in the heart and eye 

Of such fair spirit passing by ! 

Such look, to heart and life of child. 
Is living lodestone to the steel. 

The rays that light the sinless soul 
Have power to light us on to weal. 

Awake, O man, and let thine eyes 

Be windows into Paradise ! 
(14) 



ODE TO THE WORLD. 

I can but love thee, cold, old World ! 
Ah, deep within thy heart are furled 
The mysteries, which underlie 
The sorrows deep, the heaving sigh, — 
I can but gaze with tear-dewed eye, 
0, grave, cold World ! 

I should but love thee, cold, old World! 
Although the heart and brain be whirled 
By tempest wild, by chilling blast, 
E'en yet, there come some joys at last — 
Some sunny days when clouds are past, 
0, sad, cold World! 

I will but love thee, cold, old World ! 
The deadly curses at thee hurled 
Are cast by thoughtless souls — not bold. 
Who can not bear thy story told. 
Who search not deep thy hidden gold, 
0, stern, cold World ! 



(15) -' 




^^W© I^Ui^ ^y r/7'^](g(|^^T0 iT* yl\o[^l(B^o 



ODE TO THE MUSE. 

Yes, bring the harp, O gentle Muse, once more ! 
And bear my fingers to the strings ; and o'er 
Them fondling, may my soul learn to express 
The songs that swell within, and ever press 
Me on to action. 

Songs that are stirred by nature's luring ways. 
The charming linnet's note, the fresh spring days. 
The murm'ring brooklet hieing to the sea. 
Or zephyrs sighing softly, mournfully. 
On summer ev'nings. 

On thee, on thee sweet Muse, a flooded gate 
Of joy for me doth wait, doth ever wait. 
let me feel thee near, while Nature flings 
Her royal banner to the breeze, and brings 
My soul to longing ! 

Upon thy work that's wrought with genius grand. 
With great and strange delight I gaze, and stand 
Lost to myself in sweet and lulling dreams. 
To thee, gentle Muse, and of thy themes, 
My heart is singing ! 



(17) 



MY LOVE. 

All, many ways I've fashioned, to myself. 

My own, my future Love. 
She shall be slight; she shall be fair ; her eyes, 

The hue of space above. 
Of gold, her soft and silken hair ; her grace, 

My passion deeply move. 

Perchance, she shall have eyes of brown, to win 

Me with their sparkling spell ; 
Dark hair, which floats in pleasing waves ; a hand. 

Whose fondest lingerings tell 
Of love, deep, 'biding in a soul, whose depths 

One can but know so well. 

Perchance, she shall have eyes of gray, whose 
glances 

Shy, will quickly fall; 
A thoughtful mind ; a pleasing air ; a heart, 

All mine ! My soul must call, 
Though eyes be blue, or brown, or gray ; — her heart — 

All mine, — or not at all ! 



(18) 



THE BARDS DEPARTED. 

sacred bards in fantasy 

We stand beside your tombs ; 

With tender hands we gently place 
Our wreaths of sweet perfumes, 

All woven by the Nations' love 
Whose paths ye did illume. 

We weep, yes, weep; but turn our hearts. 

To sacred volumes, turn ; 
The thought, the love, the truth, the light. 

That in those souls did burn 
Is there embalmed, it liveth still, 

Search then, hearts that yearn ! 

Departed bards, could it be. 

That we might truly feel 
Within our souls that wondrous light, 

That wondrous glory, steal ; 
That glory of sweet Eden fair, 

Of realms of the Ideal ! 

(19) ' 



All could it be that we might sip 
At silver fountains, where 

Your eager souls have overflowed, 
And flooded all the air 

With music sweet, that all the world 
Might long to linger there. 

0, sacred bards, we look on you 
As earth's most gracious dower ; 

We feel the forces which unite 
And bind our earth with power 

To heaven's land, to Eden lost ; 
Truly, our rarest dower ! 



(20) 



GONE DEMOCRATIC!— Nov., 1892. 

"Sweepstakes!" they say, and that emphatic 
They say, "The earth's gone democratic!" 

I have a friend who says that soon 
He must investigate the moon. 

The cock is stepping high and proud, 
His voice is heard full shrill and loud ; 

The whistling train appears to know, 
And imitates a thrilling crow. 

Such horns, and drums, and cannons too ! 

The air is rent, and turning blue ; 
Tin pans, and all that make a racket 

Are loudly voicing democratic. 

Where shall I fly from all this noise 
Of heightening democratic joys ? 

I've gone from cellar up to attic, 
Surely, the world is democratic ! ! 



!ir 



''THE AVORLD'S UNTRUE." 

Hush, hush, I pray thee to repeat 
That thought no more to me ; 

Its awful meaning is unkind. 
And in its depths I see 

The broken brotherhood of man, — 
The world seems kind to me. 

Yes, kind, and yet, not faultless, pray 
I know too well 'twill bear 

High compliment but seldom. Ah, 
But list, the world has care ; — 

let me meet it as a friend, 
In thought its burden share. 

1 gaze upon its rigid brow. 
Not as a skeptic bold ; 

I seek not first its fault to see, 

But wait its story told ; 
Perchance I might be judging wrong. 

Could but its heart unfold. 

(22) 



I hold it as a changeless law 
From which I would not turn, 

That if in grave, maturer years 

Sweet childhood's faith could burn, 

More kindly would the world join hands, 
Of brotherhood would learn. 

I know you chide me for my creed, 

And almost angry grow ; — 
Forgive, I pray, I can but cling 

To what I feel I know ; 
Believing thus, the world is true, 

'Twill help to make it so. 



(235 



IDEAL HOME. 

You ask me kindly to rehearse 
To you, my friend, in simple verse, 
E'en this, my long, long cherished dream 
Of that most grand and honored theme 
To which I cling, where'er I roam. 
And dream of oft — Ideal Home. 

Ah, is it then you sing to me, 

Of lordly palace by the sea, 

That looks from off the smiling shore. 

And views the charming deep sea o'er ; 

A home where wealth hath power bestowed, 

And Nature sings her sweetest ode ? 

Or, is it in the mountain where 
There ever breathes a living air ; 
And graceful branches bow and sway. 
While sweet eeolian harpstrings play ; 
That dwelling from the world aside, 
Which never was the home of pride ? 

(24) 



No, not the palace by the sea, 
Nor yet, the mountain home so free, 
Which lends the fairest, grandest dream, 
And sends like Cupid's dart a gleam 
Of hope, that I have found a realm, 
That e'er my soul would overwhelm ; 

No, no ; 'tis blessed by power above, 
The honored Queen — her name is Love, 
There rules her realm with peaceful power !- 
0, often come sweet musing Hour, 
With rarest dreams 'neath heaven's dome, 
Of this the loved, Ideal Home ! 



(25) 



HIS FOOTSTEPS. 

Listening, listening in the twilight 

That familiar step to hear. 
Listening, waiting — ah, how anxious, 

Lingering 'twixt hope and fear. 

Will he come ? Where does he wander 
In the deepening purple shade ? 

Will he come when stars are lighted, 
When the glows of sunset fade ? 

Nature seems in truest keeping 

At this quiet twilight hour. 
With fair Cupid, cunning archer. 

Peering from his rosy bower. 

How the softly rustling branches 
Of the lindens tall and high 

Make me feel, dear love, so surely. 
That thy steps are drawing nigh ! 

Every sound that breaks the stillness. 
As the filmy curtains move, 

Sends from Cupid's bow an arrow; — 
What a dreadful thing is love ! 
(26) 



MARY TO HER DEPARTED. 

Yes, life to me seems now in vain, 
So sadly fraught with toil and pain ; 
The aching head so longs for rest ; 
So deep with sorrow heaves my breast. 
The soiled garments round me lie, 
While, with my bleeding hands, I try 
To cleanse them, striving hard to please 
The royal ladies, who at ease. 
So oft forgetting to be kind, 
Leave the suffering world behind. 
Leon, canst thou see me, dear ? 
Dost thou, Love, my sighing hear ? 
Does that perfect paradise 
Close my sufferings from thine eyes ? 
Canst thou, Love, thy Mary see ? — 
May thy spirit comfort me ! 
Would that on my aching brow 
Thy tender hand I might feel now. 
Fair youth, sweet Love, was but a dream. 
As rainbows vanish, thus its gleam 
Seemed but to rise with splendid light. 
And then to vanish out of sight. 

(27)' 



Would that my soul might take its flight 
Beyond yon purple mountain height, 
And with thee, Leon, ever blest. 
My wearied spirit there might rest ! 



(28) 



THE STORMY NIGHT. 

Blow, raging Winds, through the hours of the night, 
Blow with wild music, blow with your might. 
Hidden the moon with the clouds' heavy crest ; 
Stirred is my soul, with a deep unrest 
That it almost loves ; — not strange to find 
It assumes the spirit of the restless wind. 

Blow, raging Winds, through the hours of the night; 

Blow with wild music, blow with your might. 

Blow till my heart keeps time to the beat 

Of the raging blasts, as they oft repeat ; 

Blow till the chords of my soul respond. 

Like the strings of a harp, to the wings of the wind. 

Blow, raging Winds, through the hours of the night. 
Blow with wild music, blow with your might ; 
Awaken thoughts, where slumber keeps 
The heart at ease, and pleasure steeps 
The soul in balms, till paths are trod 
Which leadeth not to realms of God. 
(29)' 



Blow, raging Winds, through the hours of the night, 
Blow with wild music, blow with your might ; 
Blow, blow till thoughts are made to wing 
Through higher realms, and soaring bring 
A lulling note to earth again. 
Relieving hearts that beat in pain. 

Blow, raging Winds, through the hours of the night, 
Blow with wild music, blow with your might ; 
Hidden the moon with the clouds' heavy crest; 
Stirred is my soul, with a deep unrest 
That it almost loves ; — not strange to find 
It assumes the spirit of the restless wind. 



(30) 



ICE-CLAD. 

I 'woke this morn and — lo ! it seemed 

I had been borne to Fairy-land, 
For all the world in splendor gleamed — 

A royal crystal palace grand. 

The dark fir boughs were bended low 
With sparkling icy jewels' weight, 

As though the witches willed it so 

For bowers, 'twould seem, with diamond gate. 

I gazed adown the avenue, 

As fair Aurora blushed the skies, 

And lo ! a way of changing hue, — 
A crystal path to paradise ! 

The icy telegraphic wire. 

Full many a crystal strand. 
Seemed like the strings of some great lyre 

With dripping notes of Fairy-land. 

I paused to list the music sweet. 

To hear the strangely tinkling rhyme 

Which fancy bore, with joys complete, — 
How true the measured strokes of time. 

(31) ' 



I feasted there my child-like soul 

Upon the grandeur which was wrought ; 

It seemed so true, complete the whole, 

I'd reached the splendid realm long sought. 



(32) 



IN MEMORIAM. 

Hark, a voice is calling gently 

From the great eternal shore ; 
List, the name — too familiar, 

It is echoed now once more, — 
O the burden of my anguish ! 

Will this stroke shut out the light ? 
Am I left in utter darkness 

In the stillness of the night ? 

Will that voice so full of music 

Sound its cheery note no more ? 
Will that veil which hides thee from me 

Ever answer, ' ' Nevermore ? ' ' 
Will that smile, which was all sunshine, 

Light no more my pathway here ? 
Will the world sink into darkness. 

While I stand in trembling fear ? 

Lo, the heavens are bathed in sunlight ! 

See the radiance sublime ! 
Hear the soft and tender accents 

Of the Comforter Divine ! 
Did you hear that gentle breathing. 

That has wrought a wondrous spell ? 
Did you hear the angel whisper, 

That He doeth all things well ? 
(33) 



THE CLOUD WITH A SILVER LINING. 

Of all the stories which were read 

In childhood's pleasant hours, 
And linger in sweet fancy still 

And lend so free their powers 
To me, is one so full of light, 

So deep, so pure, so true, refining, 
And ever more is fresh and new — 

"The Cloud with a Silver Lining." 

So often when I speak with friends 

That from some cause are saddened, 
Who look upon the clouds of life 

With fear e'en almost maddened, 
I sing to them with softened voice. 

With heart theirs close entwining, 
The golden theme of childhood's hours, 

"The Cloud with a Silver Lining.'.' 

Ah, many times within my room 
I list the wild wind sighing, 

While many voices of the night 
With echoes faint are dying. 
(34) 



Perchance sad thoughts then come to me, 
I feel my faint heart pining, 

I simply smile and then repeat, 

"The Cloud with a Silver Lining." 

that the human heart were brave 

To put aside its fearing, 
And be prepared for every cloud 

That seemingly is nearing ; 
Sweet hope is born within the heart 

Of him who's ceased repining, 
And calmly looks upon the cloud 

In search of its Silver Lining. 



(35) 



MY COUNTRY HOME. 

Yes, humble is my country home ; 

"Strange," you say I love it; 
'Why?" The air is pure and free 

With heaven's dome above it. 
'Tis true, no brazen gates adorn, 

No statues one could covet, 
Yet, 'tis my home, my own sweet home, 

And that is why I love it. 

I often sit at eventide 

And listen to the singing 
Of tuneful birds, before they rest, 

AVhile each clear note is bringing 
A richer thought to me by far, 

Than is through the city winging. 
Yes, more to me than all the themes, 

Of which you're fondly singing. 

So dreamy, o'er the western slope, 
The tinted clouds are paling; 

The music of the restless pines 
Accompany the wailing, 

(36; 



As you would term it, of the dove, 
Who chants, scarce ever failing. 

The farewell song of dying Day, 

While Night spreads soft the veiling 

Then, I look eastward to the town; 

I see the lights all beaming 
Adown the avenues they grace; 

Their tender rays all streaming. 
Remind me how some things of life 

Are richer far, 'tis seeming. 
Through distance viewed than closer by. 

E'en grandest in the dreaming. 



(37) 




The straiiix from hi» French-harp seemed perfect. 



THE SERENADE. 

He was tattered and torn, — little urchin, 
But his music was sweet as could be. 

How he threw down his great heavy burden, 
Bethinking to serenade me ! 

He stood at the gate by the highway 

Before he entered the lane, 
Which led to a dreary old cabin, — 

His home, so humble and plain. 

The strains from his French-harp seemed perfect, 
And trembling were borne with delight. 

Through the soft balmy air of the evening, 
Till shadows grew deep with the night. 

I feasted my soul in the twilight, 
While sweetly the music went on ; 

I gazed on the wan, slender urchin, 

And thought of him long when he'd gone. 

The piece which he gave most expression, 
The one that I deem far the best, 

Was this, "Home, Sweet Home"; 0, the feeling 
Of pity it stirred in my breast ! 
(39> 



I thought of the dreary old cabin, — 
His home, at the end of the lane ; 

The thought served to impress the music, 
And blended a touch with each strain. 

The music then ceased, as the twilight 
Was lost in the shade of the night. 

And I thought, — speed home, little urchin, 
Speed home, — he was gone from my sight. 

Fly home, ragged boy, to your cabin ; 

God bless you wherever you roam. 
And breathe to thee this satisfaction, — 

"Though humble, there's no place like home! 



(40) 



ODE TO THE CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

Ring out, sweet bells, ring loud, ring free ! 

Ring out, joyous liberty ! 

Would that sweet echoes, chanting free, 

Their chimes could blend across the sea ; 

Thus celebrate, while nations sing 

The birthday carols of our King. 

Ring out, sweet bells, ring out anew ! 
Send forth thy tidings upward, through 
Ethereal space — through heaven's blue ! 
Ring out those tidings ever true 
Of nations, whose warm hearts still cling 
To sweet remembrance of their King ! 

Ring out, sweet bells, let music flow ! 
Ring, gladly ring, swing to and fro, 
Repeating joys of long ago ! 
Yes, ring that every heart may know 
That same sweet gladness as they sing, 
'All hail, the birthday of our King!" 
(41)' 



Ring out, sweet bells, in tones divine ! 
0, tell how Bethlehem's star did shine. 
How tender rays did all incline 
Toward one sweet child ; how at that shrine 
The Wise men knelt, and gifts did bring, 
While praises rang — " Our new born King !" 

Ring out, sweet bells, ring out again ! 
Tell of that midnight hour, — when 
The shepherds watched their flocks, e'en then, 
'Peace on earth, good will to men " 
By angels' voices loud did ring, 
Proclaiming, — "There is born a King!" 

Ring out, sweet bells, ring loud, ring free ! 

Ring out, — joyous liberty ! 

Would that sweet echoes chanting free 

Their chimes could blend across the sea ; 

Thus celebrate, while nations sing, 

The birthday carols of our King. 



(42) 



REFLECTIONS. 

There's something in the human eye 

Reflective as the deep ; 
Reflecting thoughts that can not die, 

Though hushed the soul may keep. 

There's something in a conquered voice 

That e'er betrays the heart, 
And tells that oft 'tis sorrow's choice 

To claim of life a part. 

There's something in a gentle word 

That e'er, ah, ever tells, 
Like music of some light- wing 'd bird, 

Where love in sweetness dwells. 

There's something in a pleasant smile 
That kindles kindly thought. 

And frees the mind from thoughts of guile 
And ofttimes good has wrought. 

There's something in a noble life 

That sends its ray of light 
Like magic into hearts where strife 

Hath wrought its will with might. 

(43/ 



There's something, though the world may 
frown, 

That brings like sweetest dream 
For every cross a jeweled crown. 

( Why not accept such theme ? ) 



(44) 



REMORSE. 

Remorse ! Remorse ! the more I gaze 

The more my blood runs chill ; 
Depicted in thy dreary face, 
Methinks I can a meaning trace, 
That vengeance wrecks a guilty race, 
When beckoned by th}^ will. 

I've watched thee at a shadowed hour, 

When some lone cock would crow, 
Glide swiftly on with stealthy tread. 
And bending o'er a victim's bed, 
Though heard I not the words 'twere said. 
The slumb'rer woke in woe. 

0, happy hearts that have not known 

Thy poisoned cup of pain. 
That blights the hope of pleasure's dow'r ; 
With sadness fills each coming hour ; 
O'erwheims the mind with dead'ning pow' 

And fills and fills again ! 

(45)' 



Of all the daggers ever made 

Or e'er described by pen, 
Thine, Remorse, the keenest seems ; 
By dying embers' light it gleams, 
And from its point there ever streams 

The blood of guilty men. 

Remorse ! Remorse ! the more I gaze 

The more my blood runs chill. 
Depicted in thy dreary face, 
Methinks I can a meaning trace, 
That vengeance wrecks a guilty race, 
When beckoned by thy will. 



(46) 



HER SMILE. 

The task I deem as far too great, — 
Portrayal with my feeble pen. 

To do her justice now, I should 

Thus know her, — as I knew her then. 

The sunlight of her fair young face, 
So free from any shade of guile, 

Seemed but the harmony of soul 

Which found expression in that smile. 

It cost her but a single thought, — 
That sunbeam for the dark old earth ; 

It shone with radiance divine. 

One could but feel — not speak its worth. 

It cheered the ragged beggar boy, 
Who chanced to come her sunny way. 

It hushed the orphan's thought of pain 
Like some sweet chanted lay. 

It shone more brightly far to me 

Than changing glows upon the hearth ; 

It chased to flight dark thoughts of care, 
While sighs were often changed to mirth. 

(47/ 



It gave expression to her joys ; 

But in it was a purpose twain, 
Acknowledging her quick delight, 

It sweetly gilded all her pain. 



(48) 



SONGS 



LOVE CAPTIVE. 

If I were a bird to-night I'd wing 

My way to the home of my Love and sing. 

I'd sing of Love's captivity, 

I'd sing of joyous liberty, 

If I were a bird, 

If I were a bird. 

If I were a bird to-night I'd wing 
My way to the liome of my Love and sing. 
I'd sing of true Love's conquering power 
O'er anger, pride, or richest dower. 

If I were a bird. 

If I were a bird. 

If I were a bird to-night I'd wing 
My way to the home of my Love and sing. 
With plaintive note I'd swell my song; 
I'd pray her thus, — "forgive my wrong," 

If I were a bird. 

If I were a bird. 

(51) ' 



If I were a bird to-night I'd wing 

My way to the home of my Love and sing. 

I'd sing of Love's captivity, 

I'd sing of joyous liberty, 

If I were a bird, 

If I were a bird. 



(52) 



NEVERMORE. 

Evermore that smile is haunting, 

Though I wander far away ; 
Still it comes — unwearied phantom — 

Conies by night, and comes by day. 
Chorus : 

Gentle zephyrs softly murmur. 

Floating from an unknown shore, 
Words that echo in the silence, 

Faintly sighing, — nevermore. 

Lovelit eyes — ah — crystal windows, 

To a soul like heaven's own. 
Beam now only in the dreaming, — 
those hours too swiftly flown ! 



(53) 



THE DAINTY BLUE LETTERS WHICH CAME 
THROUGH THE MAIL. 

Pray leave me, my friend, in my study alone; 
Yes, leave me to silence — the daylight has flown ; 
The glow from the hearth on the soft velvet floor 
Recalls, with all splendor, those sweet days of yore ; 
While deep in the gloaming my heart must bewail 
Some dainty blue letters which came through the mail. 

Chorus: 
The dainty blue letters which came through the mail. 
The dainty blue letters at eve in the mail, 
I looked not in vain when the rose clouds would pale. 
The dainty blue letter was sure in the mail ; 
I looked not in vain when the rose clouds would pale, 
The dainty blue letter was sure in the mail. 

Oh, why did I tell her our two paths must part ? 
And why did I deepen with sadness that heart 
Which I knew at my coming beat wildly in glee. 
And answered in fondness none other than me ? 
Alas, in the gloaming my heart seems to fail, 
And sigh for blue letters to come through the mail. 



(54) 



OPENING SONG OF D. K. E. 

Air, — "Comin' Through the Rye." 

Blow to-night the thrilling bugle, 

Sound the notes with glee ; 
Notes that murmur in their winging 

Joys of D. K. E. 
Zej)hyrs bear the call so gently 

On from sea to sea, 
With its chiming ever rhyming 

Joys of D. K. E. 

One fraternal spirit ruling 

All with harmony. 
Sacred ties shall bind together 

Our fraternity ; 
All unite in one glad voicing 

Chanting, loud and free, 
Words that echo in the silence, — 

"Praise thee D. K. E." 

Blow to-night the thrilling bugle, 
Sound the notes with glee ; 

Notes that murmur in their winging 
Joys of D. K. E. 

(55) ' 



Zephyrs bear the call so gently 

On from sea to sea, 
With its chiming ever rhyming 

Joys of D. K. E. 



(56) 



SIGMA NU. 

Air — Scotch Lassie Jean. 

The moon on her throne reigns supremely to-night, 

While stream abroad her silvery rays ; 
And sweet Eolian harp strings now are faintly heard, 

And the echoes sigh for notes of joyous lays. 
We have listened to their pleadings and they ever 
seem to say : 

"Glad songs for the night we pray of you." 
With honest reflection what truer deeds be done, 

Than to send our songs of grand Sigma Nu. 

Chorus : 
Yes, wake the dreamy night with voices that are 
brave and true ; 
Afloat upon the soft, gentle zephyr's wings to-night, 
We will send our songs of grand Sigma Nu. 

With true love fraternal our hearts beat in time ; 

Dear are the bonds by which we are bound. 
No hour more swiftly glides than when we're gath- 
ered here 

In our halls where tender welcome e'er is found. 

(57)' 



In the distant future days, oh what shall soothe the 
hours of care, 
E'er more than these pleasant scenes review; 
And chant once again our loved song that's now so 
dear ; 
Thus renew the bonds of grand Sigma Nu. 



(58) 



LINES TO DELTA U. 

Air — In the Gloaming. 

In the gloaming, I am dreaming 

Of those days which soon must come, 
When our college days are ended. 

And we thus afar must roam 
From the scenes which now entice us, 

Here beneath this spacious dome — 
Ah, some ties will gently bind us, 

Though we tread our paths alone. 

Chorus : 

In the gloaming, yes, remember, 

Though we've said, "dear friends adieu. 
Sacred ties will ever bind us, 

'Neath eternal skies of blue. 
Though the future smiles with splendor. 

Back will turn our hearts so true, — 
Ah, we can not e'er forget thee, 

Our beloved Delta U. 



In the gloaming we'll be musing 

O'er the happy, golden hours 
That we brothers sj)ent together — 

Oh, sweet mem'ry, lend thy powers! 
'Tis through thee that we shall often 

Meet beneath fraternal bowers. 
Thus while feasted by such visions, 

We'll enjoy thy rarest dowers. 



(60) 



SIGMA CHI. 

Air— Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. 
Come join me in a meriy rhyming song, 

All books and cares laid by. 
Enjoy the fleeting hours which gail}^ pass 

In realms of Sigma Chi. 

Repeat the praises oft, repeat them loud ; 

Ah, true, our pleasures lie, 
In singing of our grand fraternity. 

Our long loved Sigma Chi. 

When fleeting years of future shall have passed, 

And listening, you and I, 
Through corridors of time, will gladly greet 

Sweet rhymes of Sigma Chi. 

Though forgetting some of Latin phrase, or Greek. 

Our hearts will ever sigh 
For scenes then held in sacred memory 

Bv bonds of Sigma Chi. 



t61) 



DIALECTS. 



INTO TROUBLE. 

Yes, Lillie sinks she's awful smart! 

An' says I look so sour, 
No wonder, when she put me in 

Zat closet fur an hour ; 

Gis 'cause I said some 'ittle sings 

She said I oughtn't say 
Right 'fore zat ugly beau 'o hers, — 

Wish he 'd stay away ! 

Don't sink he's one bit purty ! 

'Cause he's got red hair. 
An' great big eyes 'at looks as wild 

Whenever I'm in there. 

Lil says it's 'cause I say such sings 
'At makes such aw^ful s'prise, 

'At makes him look around at me 
An' open up his eyes. 

I never said a single sing 
But what wuz gist the truf ! 

No use o' her a gittin' mad 
An' takin' off the roof! 

(65) , 



I know he did kiss her las' night, 
'Cause I gis heard it smack,— 

I's standin' right behind the door 
A peepin' froo the crack ! 



(6tJ) 



THE FARM. 

Ah, spring has come ! an' ever' thing 

Is gist as bright an' cheery, 
An' ever' care is flung aside 

With winter's blast so dreary. 
I ruther love the good old farm, 

There's sort o' sweetness 'bout it; 
An' when I think o' leavin' here, — 

I dun 'no, ruther doubt it. 

The longed fer time o' year has come 

To turn the rich soil over ; 
An' soon the freighted breeze '11 float 

With fragrant breath o' clover. 
The birds is pourin' forth their song, 

With all the strength that's given ; 
Of all the spots I've seen on earth, 

This seems the most like heaven ! 

Ah, now's the time to take the team 
With harness chains a ginglin'. 

And hear the merry farmer boy 
With whistlin' 

(6?) 



As on he goes through dewy air, 
But stops the team so steady, 

To holler back to sister Bess — 
"Sure, have the dinner ready!" 

I love to hear the farmer call 

His cattle late at ev'n ; 
From distant hills, through meller light 

The echo back is given. 
I love to see the gentle cows 

Their homeward way a windin', 
An' see 'em fuss among the calves. 

So sure their own a findin'. 

I love to see the old blue hen, 

With motherly affection, 
Spread out her spacious glossy wings 

O'er chicks in such protection. 
Or see the pigeons fly to roost, 

An' hear 'em softly cooin' 
And bo win' gracefully to dames, 

As though their love they's wooin'. 

There is a pleasure at the farm 

A simple mode o' livin' 
That somehow keeps the heart at ease 

With all that nature's given. 

(68) 



I ruther love the good old farm 
There's sort o' sweetness 'bout it ; 

An' when I think o' leavin' here, — 
I dun'no, ruther doubt it. 



SUE'S LOVE AFFAIRS. 

I don't want to marry Jim, 
Just because I don't love him. 
Papa says I'm such a goose, — 
I don't care, now what's the use ; 
Marry Jim for what he's worth, 
When I almost hate the earth 
That the fellow walks upon ? 
How I wish that he was gone. 
I've no use for any such ; 
I'll not have him, no not much ! 
Papa says, — "Yes, you love Will; 
You'll just have a bitter pill. 
Mark you what I say just now ; 
Let me once but tell you how 
Other girls have had to do 
With those men that you call true. 
Some things will be hard to swaller 
When you've spent your bottom dollar!' 

Papa's old an' he's forgot; 
I'll not mind him, that's just what ! 
He's forgot how lovin' goes ; 
None the less he thinks he knows 

(70) 



What's the best for girls like me. 
I'll not mind him, you just see ! 
Don't you tell him, brother Lon ; 
You just keep it, don't let on. 
Will an' I will make surprise, — 
Won't he open up his eyes ? 



(71) 



LOOKIN' BACK AGIN. 

I's jist a settin' thinkiii' 

0' good old days that's past, 
O' new games that keeps a comin' 

An' old ones, how they last 
Ferever an' ferever 

A cheerin' up the heart. 
An' in this life a playin' 

A purty noble part. 

I's readin' how our poet 

Wuz singin' up in rhyme 
The glor'ous hallelujah 

0' cider makin' time. 
I guess that's why I'm thinkin' 

My days all o'er agin, 
An' why they come so sparklin', 

I guess they're some akin. 

So here I set a thinkin' 
As in my golden prime, 

A summin' up the pleasures 
0' sugar makin' time, 
(72) 



An' greetin' ever' vision 

That comes up bright an' new, 

An' breathes the breath o' mornin', 
As fresh as fallen clew. 

In breakin' up o' winter — 

When come them warmer rays, 
An' some few birds wuz chantin' 

The prelude o' spring days — 
'Twas then we tapped them sugars ; 
'Twas then my days wuz bright ; 
'Twas then we biled the syrup, 
Till ten o'clock at night. 

'Twas then the neighb'r'n' youngsters 

Would come a flockin' in, 
An' how the mighty spinnin' 

0' yarns would then begin ! 
There seated 'round the furnace, 

On roughly culled out boards, 
We'd drink the new made syrup, 

Frum dippers made o' gourds. 

Yes, yit I hear that music — 
The drip frum elder spiles, 

I hear agin them pleasures — 
Them glor'ous afterwhiles. 

(73) 



0' how we'd reap the harvest 
Frum out the wooden trough, 

While father 'd gone to supper, 
By simply "stirrin' off." 

It did look kindah tricky, 

But 0, 'twas lots o' fun — 
An' father he'd fergive us 

Fer all the mischief done. 
An' simply tell us over 

Some tale right there and then 
0' great success an' honors, 

0' honest, trusty men. 

I guess it's all the better 

That youth should have its fun, 
Fer if in tender spring-time 

The life o' age begun, 
There 'd be no time fer flowers. 

Few joys to gether in, 
An' age would have no pleasure 

In Lookin' Back Agin. 



(74) 



AN OLD HOOSIER ON HEARING JAMES 
WHITCOMB RILEY. 

Yes, I heered him, — heered it all, heh — 

Ef there ever wuz a man 
That could set a feller laughin' 

Jemes Whitcomb Riley can ! 

I'd ben heerin tell o' Whitcomb, 
Says I, to myself, says I, 
'-'I'll jist heer that Hoosier poet, 

An' not let this chance slip by." 

Mocked us fellers, what's a livin' 
Out among the bresh, I know. 

But I couldn't keep from laughin', 
Fer I knowd it wuz jist so. 

Ment no harm, .Jemes Whitcomb didn't, 

Jist a singin' up in rhyme 
Some o' our odd Hoosier speeches 

That is somewhat back in time. 

Mock a boy — w'y jist as natural 

As the boy himself could be, 
An' he'd have the funniest actions 

You'd ever ast to see ! 

(75) ' 



Then he'd stop off short an' sudden, 
An' with tears all in his eye, 

He'd repeat some piece so tender 
That 'twuld shore to make you cry ! 

W'y the minute that I seed him. 
With that keerless easy sway, 

I jist said, "That man's a gen 'us. 
He shows that in ever' way!" 

Ah, we love our Hoosier poet, — 
Let the praises fer him roll, 

Fer we know his pen is movin' 
With the music of his soul ! 



(76) 



A CHILD'S QUESTION. 

While the merry bells were ringing, 

(Jn a happy Christmas Eve, 
Passed I through the city's border — 

How e'en yet my heart does grieve! 
Grieve with such pathetic sadness, 

As I now that scene recall ; 
'Twas a gloomy little hovel ; 

'Twas a dimly lighted wall. 

'Twas a child with voice of music ; 

'Twas a child with golden hair ; 
'Twas a child with eyes of heaven. 

Dreaming in the moonlight there. 
Leaning fondly out the casement. 

Then came these words into the night 
Who is Santa Claus, dear mamma, 

Is he man zat loves wiz might ? ' ' 

Then I paused to hear the answer 
From a mother, worn with care. 

And I realized the struggle 
Passing in that bosom, where 

(77) , 



Sorrow deep had long been hidden. 

Slowly came the answer mild ; 
Santa Claus is but a fancy — 

But a golden dream, my child. 

'Tis a dream for many children, 

Who have parents that can buy 
Gifts to gladden, and make happy ' 

Then the tears came to her eye. 
As she clasped her little darling, 

In her deepening sympathy ; 
'Tis a dream — a golden fancy — 

'Tis a joy, but not for thee." 



(78) 




' jvp had d time 



BEN JONES' FIRST TRIP TO THE OHIO, 

I tell yuh, Bob, I've had a time, 

I've had gist three weeks' outiii', 
And law ! the mighty fun we had 

A fishin' and a scoutin' 
All up an' down them southern hills — 

'Twould make your big heart quiver, 
Old boy, to take a skiff an' go 

On that Ohier river. 

But wait, I aint yit told the best ; 

That boat! I skipped the levee, 
An' at the wharf I seed 'em lift 

Them gang planks — awful heavy. 
And how they'd boss them niggers 'round. 

While cargoes they's a totin' ! 
But makes no differns to them men, 

Gist so they're off an' floatin'. 

An' them there boats — tliey've got a name. 

An' people know 'em by it; 
It's on the side, big letters. Bob, 

You'd see it 'fore you's nigh it. 
(81)' 



This boat, they named it Fowler Joe, 
Their pilot's good at steerin', 

So on I stepped, on biler deck — 
There aint no use o' fearin'. 

An' then I went right up the steps. 

Into the little cabin ; 
An' there the folks wus settin' 'round 

A laughin' an' a gabbin'. 
An' then I went out on the guards, 

An' stood close to the railin' — 
The railin' goes all 'round the boat. 

Gist like the garden palin'. 

That clerk I say's a clever man, 

The whole boat 'round he showed us- 
The Texas an' the pilot house. 

Gist like he'd al'as knowed us. 
An' then he showed us that big wheel 

The pilot used in steerin' 
An' then the whistle comes in next. 

When other boats is nearin'. 

Tlie comin' boat has right o' way; 

So fust her whistle's floatin ; 
One whistle means to take the right, 

Two whistles left denotin'. 



(82) 



An' now, old boy, with all my trip, 
I'll never stop my longin' 

'Till I'm aboard a mighty ship, 
xVn' know all that's belongin'. 



(8.?) 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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